


A Crystal Diary

by orphan_account



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Breeding, Casual Sex, Child Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, M/M, Master/Pet, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Oviparous Trolls, Public Sex, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Stockholm Syndrome, Tags May Change, hermaphroditic changelings, ships are not actual ships, this is a mess, trolls are assholes to changelings, uh what else
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-20 22:52:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Nobody understood. They could not fathom the reasons as to why Stricklander did the things he did, courted evil so recklessly- became one of them in time himself. The name “Gunmar” carved so delicately into his upper left shoulder blade bled his entire history for all to see- showed the world the truth of the matter. (This is why he always wore the cloak besides the bladed fringe.)Loyalty is a trained thing. And only another pet could understand the motions of obedience beaten into him from a young age.i.e, Stricklander has a darker history than any of the human teenagers could even begin to understand.





	1. Clutches

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE MIND THE TAGS!!!! I sort of just word-vomited all of this after binge watching the show for a first time, its pretty obvious who my favorite character is. All of the 'ships' are not true and this will not be a shippy fic, at least not as the focus.
> 
> I just rly found the troll and changling disconnect facenating and wanted to work with it, its honestly what has me most interested in the show.
> 
> again, pls mind the tags! thank <3
> 
> PS COMMENTS motivate me and help me continue to write! Without them im unlikely to continue something.

Nobody understood. They could not fathom the reasons as to why Stricklander did the things he did, courted evil so recklessly- became one of them in time himself. The name “ _Gunmar_ ” carved so delicately into his upper left shoulder blade bled his entire history for all to see- showed the world the truth of the matter. (This is why he always wore the cloak besides the bladed fringe.)

Loyalty is a _trained_ thing. And only another _pet_ could understand the motions of obedience beaten into him from a young age.

The humans and the ‘good’ trolls would never understand. Couldn't. Would not know the burning lines etched into his skin that both terrified him and made his chest flutter in an uncomfortable way. It was wrong and ugly, he should never feel such things towards a lifetime tormentor, but it was part of everything beaten into him. To love his torment-- to love his master.

And he had been broken in so _thoroughly_. Nothing but the best for the leader of the gumm-gumms, no King would have anything less than a perfectly trained pet.

Over the many years of his life Stricklander had come to find... fascination, with true trolls. His very existence disgusted them, even the ‘good’ ones. They threw around words like _impure_ just as often as the bad ones. And yet- despite this disgust, there was a level of fascination and lust for his kind. Slaves to war and carnage, but a select few had the _blessing_ of being a carnal fascination, A treat for trolls in power to sate their basal urges with. And though they spit slurs even as they satisfied themselves, Stricklander had come to feel... a measure of pride. To create such a reaction in someone who supposedly was disgusted by him... Stricklander had all too easily fallen into his role. It suited him, he supposed.

Survival meant _anything_ , even if that meant becoming exactly what they wanted you to. He was alive, wasn't he?

But then Gunmar fell.

He had only moments to think he could be _free_ when Bular’s hand curled rough and painful around his throat, a snarl on his lips as he fled with his father's own prized pet in his unforgiving grasp.

Of course, now the mantle of his father had passed to Bular, and with that his _possessions_.

Bular had taken him violently a few nights later in a cavern deep within the earth. He had not been able to walk after, but Bular had not cared- Stricklander’s orders were to _stay put_ after all.

The brute was impatient, unlike his father.

Did not understand cunning and wit and strategy, like his father.

He was a poor replacement for a master, all things considered. But what choice did he have? With Bular there was protection, in a world full of creatures that hated his kind from all sides. Bular was not nice, no, but he _hated_ his things being messed with. So, there he stayed. There, he helped strategize.

It was of some secrecy his wit for stratagem. Gunmar had, during the war, late in the day asked him of his _opinion_ on the strategy laid out upon the war table on occasion, and Stricklander would give his honest thoughts. It had made his chest swell with pride as he took his words into consideration as if they had _value_ , and he felt fit to burst when the war table was adjusted accordingly. He had serviced his master most willingly and eagerly on days like that, while the rest of the gumm-gumms slept, oblivious to the fact that a _changeling_ was helping direct them to glory.

One of the most glorious moments of his life had been, after a devastatingly successful battle in which Stricklander had inadvertently made the revisions that had streamlined their success, was when gunmar, so pleased, had knocked maps and figures off of the war table to _ravage_ him upon it.

It had been as if he were a starved dog being thrown old bones.

Perhaps he was.

Bular was truly clueless as to what would give them success. They needed an army- but not one of trolls. No, this army should hide in plain sight, humans and trolls alike oblivious until it was but too late. It was difficult to make the brute understand this.

The problem was, too few changelings were left outside of their cursed realm. The Trollhunter and her army had made a point of wiping them out along with the gumm-gumms. No creatures so corrupted (however unwillingly) by the gumm-gumms would ever be _clean_ again. _Impure._

And there were... a few ways, in which to build their army. Besides the fetch and stealing troll babies, that is.

One thing that differed changelings from other trolls was that of... anatomy. Trolls were sexually dimorphic, changelings were not. At least not in that way. They all had the same general... capabilities. This was not uncommon in their species branch, and if they were going to build an army... clutches needed to be laid, outside of the darklands.

But it couldn't be just _anyone's_.

No, it would have to be the fittest of all those who were left and loyal.

Himself included.

It was not like he had not had clutches before, in his line of servitude it was easily bound to happen, when one brute or another decided to use another, less used opening in his nethers. Even Gunmar had produced clutches with him. But with halfling children, there was a certain disconnect. They were not considered blood relatives to the father. And due to their anatomy, whatever magicks flowed through changelings veins meant any clutch from human or troll or otherwise would always be a changeling in full blood.

Stricklander had seen many of his children, imbued with the strength of their biological fathers, only just teens themselves, charge into battle only to crumble to dust and dead stone. He had long lost any note of motherly affection towards any of his charges.

Stricklander could only shift uncomfortably in the large, chaotic mess of a nest Bular had created in the den. It was a poor excuse for one, could hardly even be called that. If stricklander had had his way he would have rearranged the entire thing, but Bular would beat him for that, so he did not. All the oaf seemed to be good for was _fighting_ , much unlike his predecessor.

The creation of their army, thankfully, would take little time. Halfling clutches were large (as many as twelve, as little as one) and had relatively short incubation times- at least inside the womb. Five months for the eggs to fully form, and the next seven incubating deep within the earth next to a very hot heat source like the lava pools deep within the cave. That had been a particular stroke of luck.

It was tedious work, but in the end, there were four changelings worthy to recreate the army. Bular had taken much convincing in the first place to even agree with the idea. He had worked for months to slowly feed it to him, as if it were his own creation. The brute had decided that he would take Bular’s clutches and him alone, while the others found competent matches in form, strength, speed and intellect, all with the singular goal of _breeding_ in mind. For a changeling, this was easy work. To simply spread one's legs for several months, even years on end was certainly not new, but with the focus there it was the ONLY thing they truly had to do, at least for a little while.

There was... even a level of pampering, in its own way. Trolls were territorial by nature, even family was rarely allowed inside one's own personal den, but especially near their expecting partners. Even if he was a changeling and the children of non importance emotionally, instinct was a funny thing. Even Bular was chained to it.

He did not however appreciate a troll’s ideas of hygiene, in the form of a _troll bath_ , as it were. Changelings had ideals in hygiene closer to humans than trolls, and that meant _real baths_ . Gunmar had never gone that far in preening, but with Bular it only took him to struggle once against a cold, slimy tongue _cleaning_ him from his horns to his ankles for sharp teeth to punch through the sensitive stone skin of his inner thigh in warning, a clear reminder that there was truly no affection in the action. Merely satisfying some primal urge to tend to his possessions.

Whatever. He knew better than to look for that in the likes of _Bular_.

Still, he was growing oh so tired of essentially being a broodmother, his idea or not. It was exhausting and _taxing_ having clutch after clutch, and he cursed his own biology when his clutches remained small, six or less. It would take twice as much time to rebuild at this rate! The others were having far more success, and Stricklander helplessly found himself blaming Bular, even though his predecessor, of the same genes, had certainly not given him problems in clutch size.

Bular’s own irritation with his clutch size exploded eventually, ending up destroying the singular egg of an entire clutch Stricklander had only _just_ gotten rest from. Exhausted and sweaty, Stricklander had snapped at him about it, and received a dislocated jaw for his insolence.

Stricklander was tired, but he was determined.


	2. Shells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heeey just wanted to warn you that this starts off with explicit porn. Not too detailed, but not much is left to the imagination
> 
> idk what im doing still. I have a few ideas and scenes planned, but reader commentary is VERY welcomed!!

It was of unfortunate circumstance to Stricklander when Bular was hip-deep within him,  helplessly braced on his palms against the jagged edge of the wall just outside of Bular’s den when the other changelings arrived to the deepest parts of the cave.

Of course, there was little embarassment to be had, Bular and the changelings certainly did not seem to care. For trolls, sex was simple and rudimentary, and as long as a child was not explicitly near, public sex, at least with gumm-gumms and  _ especially _ with their changeling pets was not uncommon. Stricklander had always supposed the latter was a show of power and wealth, after all his old master Gunmar had had him serve him plenty of times before in the war room, as they talked strategy or otherwise. On occasion it had been less of a thing of pleasure and more to have him hear the plan, to revise later. But only would Gunmar do so if the situation was dire.

After all, he was still looking to a  _ changeling _ for guidance.

Bular snarled, bringing him back to reality, along with a heavy thrust that made Stricklander’s knees buckle- only slightly. He winced. He could feel that the brute’s gaze had left him, and could feel the rumble against his back as he spoke stiffly to the other changelings, though Stricklander could only mostly hear the blood rushing in his ears.

Oh, Two of them had come to bring their clutches. Ten and... twelve, each. He felt a pang of jealousy at that. In crude fashion they each simply had to meet a quota of surviving eggs over however long it took them to have such. They would be done well before him, at this rate.

In a movement he felt in his lower spine, Bular tossed his horns with a grunt towards the tunnel that led to the lava pools, now a nursery. Some changelings had hatched by this point, and the remaining adults, unfit to breed for the army stayed down there to diligently tend to the young, and begin to train them as soon as they were able. It was cruel, to all parties involved, but that was their life under the gumm-gumms.

He nearly missed as Bular came as he thought of their plan, grunting out a hiss as he felt felt the sharp sensation of Bular’s seed deep in his belly. He was given no warning as the bullish troll carelessly pulled out and let him drop to his knees, snorting out a satisfied breath before stalking away, down somewhere deeper into the tunnels.

And all Stricklander could do was sigh and lean his forehead against the cold stone, claws absentmindedly drawing lightly across his tight belly, two months into yet another cutch. Not too big to be much of a burden, yet, but still there. A gentle curve in his green skin, marring his narrow form.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump and he jerked back, a snarl on his lips as he recognized Nomura. He smacked her hand away, swiftly climbing to his feet with a breathless hiss to not touch him, her superior. Her eyes were cold, a sneer growing on her lips as she rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up. “Fine! You wish to wallow in this misery by yourself, do so! At least the rest of us have each other, our kin!” She hissed, stalking away. Clutched in one hand, the bag she had brought her clutch in.

At least they got to walk away from all of this. At that, in many ways they got to walk away. Here, Stricklander could not help but visit the nursery, and here he was not allowed to leave the deep most of the cave.

He wondered, knowing where he would end up eventually. He passed Bular’s slowly growing treasure room, the small cave with the natural spring and its ice cold water that Stricklander used to keep himself clean to his own standards. (during the war, the luxury of washing was long and far between. He would take the icy water to that any day.) Finally, he stared into the molten pools, but a few scant steps away from a couple dozen eggs.

Collectively, the eggs differed very little in appearance, so once they entered the nursery, lineage was all but utterly lost.  It would be obvious when they hatched however, for the most part. His would be likely to have green and coal colored hides while those of the like of  _ Nomura _ would be likely to have her scarlet coloration. He hadn't the faintest of what her sire’s colors had been, and nor did he care. All that mattered was the  _ cause _ . The lineage of these changelings hardly mattered. And with him directing it, perhaps, after all of this, his changeling brethren might one day be  _ free _ .

Something soft bumped into his calf and he glanced down, freezing at the sight of the infant changeling crawling along the ground. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, as if it were a shield against the likes of the infant. He would have scoffed at his own reaction if it wouldn't have made him look utterly insane in front of the lowly changelings scurrying at the corners of the cave, rounding their young kin into their nests to sleep.

That begged the question; why was this one  _ here? _ Where was its caretaker? Why were they not only neglecting their duty but forcing him to  _ look _ at the reality of what he was  _ doing? _ It was cruel! 

With a barely concealed snarl he plucked the child off of the ground by its scruff, fur dark and skin a pale gray. The child let out a yip, startled as it hu1ng from his long fingers by the looser skin of its  neck. It was as if the child’s skin  _ burned _ him, and he stalked towards the meek changelings caring for the young. He loomed over them, eyes sharp as he all but shoved the child into one of their startled arms, watching with a sneer as they nearly dropped it.

“I'd not think I needed to remind you to keep track of  _ all  _ of your charges.” Stricklander hissed, baring his teeth in a growl before turning on heel and definitely  _ not _ fleeing from the room.

Certainly not. Stricklander was  _ not  _ afraid of _ children. _

\--

Slowly,  _ very _ slowly, his plans started to come together. The clutches were laid, a hoard of young changelings - one hundred twenty four of them - swarmed the dark tunnels he had begrudgingly called home for several years now.  Their training was tough and life cruel, born to be soldiers, born to die soldiers, but even then the cave echoed on the occasion with tiny changeling laughter. When it was not echoing with that it echoed with the sounds of miniature changelings training-- sparring, some of them already starting to use  _ real _ weapons. The other changelings had chosen well, a collective majority of them showed prowess, but even then the weaker ones were still well a match for any human they might cross. They may not have been any match for a real troll like their many brothers and sisters, but there were jobs to be done  _ besides _ fighting trolls. Important, key roles that needed to be filled. At least this way, it was not to be filled with a promising warrior, more needed against the like of the trollhunters and their ilk.

Speaking of trollhunters, Bular had gone off to hunt the order and capture the amulet. This rarely left him able to come down to the deep caves where they lay in secrecy- and this gave Stricklander  _ power. _ Without bular, he was fully in charge and able to direct it exactly as he wanted without the dull brute to slow progress.

It was also a blessing in that of the young changelings. They trained faster, better, became more confident without the brute there terrorizing them, or worse,  _ eating _ them.

Bular would also not understand the importance of teaching even their mightiest warriors about stealth, about human culture. About their eventual  _ familiar. _ Without him, Stricklander was free to carry his plans out to their fullest.

And for a while, that was how it was. As everything changed above them, in the world of trolls and humans alike, they stayed put, waiting. Training. Growing  _ stronger _ .

But as the years passed, it became more and more difficult to convince Bular that the changelings needed time, experience that only years of life could give them. Previous changeling clutches had failed under Gunmar’s power only because they had just barely been hatched. The trolls had decades and decades of life on them. If they had waited, perhaps his long-dead charges would not be unmoving rubble. Their genetics had been promising, after all.

Now, though, they did not matter. He knew better than to put value in blood relations.

It had once not been like that.

Stricklander allowed his hand to wonder to the sash around his hips, claws curling around the stone pendant sewn hidden under the folds of brown cloth.

Once, long ago, he had cared.

It had been his first clutch. He had been utterly terrified, conflicted, and then in  _ pain,  _ and then there had been three of them. Small stone eggs, pulsing warmly with life against his palms. He had  _ adored _ them.

Two of them had fallen victim to a young bular’s ferocious appetite. He had wanted to strangle the then-small troll, but had chosen instead to clutch the remaining to his chest like a desperate fool.  To have done the former would have surely had him shattered on the spot. 

He still wondered why Gunmar had let him keep them in the first place. It had been his first clutch- perhaps the king had seen advantage in letting his hormones take their course. He perhaps would never know. Had never been foolish enough to ask.

Even back then, he had known what was likely to happen. He had known since a child the reality of his unfortunate heritage in flesh and bone. What his child would become, what he had inadvertently brought into the world, just to suffer.

When her egg had hatched, he had secretly kept a shard of the shell. His claws traced over it’s time-worn surface, smooth and polished from the constant brush of his fingers.

He had managed to keep h er to himself for a time. As long as she did not interrupt his duties and did not bother gunmar or his son, he was free to do as he wished. (eventually her combative training had to start, if she were to be useful and contribute to the war effort.) He had relished in the familial rituals.

Even now he dreamed of holding her small, gray-green body to his chest as they slept so snugly during the day. Of her little baby teeth gnawing on his fingers, of her silky black hair held delicately between his claws as he untangled knots and braided it to keep it from her eyes. 

Stricklander even remembered training her with fondness. He had always loathed to push her to exhaustion, but she had taken to it with such  _ conviction _ . She had only wanted to make him  _ proud. _ The first time she had struck the dead center of the target, a perfect shot, he had utterly forgotten Gunmar’s eyes on them to heft her in his arms with a delighted laugh and kiss her cheeks. Her giggle had rung pleasantly in his ears, and as he came to himself fear prickled at the back of his neck as he set her down, quickly positioning her to throw again. Gunmar’s eyes had been like a cattle brand against his back, back then unprotected by his cloak.

He had truly known fear, then. Fear for someone other than himself. For his daughter.

She had been a  _ weakness _ that Gunmar could exploit.

Her death had been _ excruciating. _

Stricklander had done something wrong. Had made a suggestion to the war map that had ended in disaster. He had been beaten for his stupidity, but even before it had come he knew that he was not all Gunmar was going to punish for his erroneous actions.

His little girl had been geared up and sent into the next fray, young, too young, even younger than the changeling teens. 

He had been there. Had watched, too late to save her as a brute of a troll had  _ crushed _ her in his cruel grasp.

He had cradled her dead stone to his chest, a desperate keening in the back of his throat as if it could have brought her back. It had been his  _ own fault. _

But damn them  _ all  _ if he had been unable to enact his own revenge. The troll that had killed her had  _ suffered _ , had _ screamed _ as he bled him slowly, viciously. Gunmar had watched with a pleased grin, satisfaction in his posture with his pets capacity for cruelty, fo _ r torture _ .

He did not keep any of his clutches close, after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I drew myself fanart. and ofc its young!stricklander, who else would it be?!
> 
>  


	3. Fanart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> legit just an entire chapter for this one thing i drew
> 
> TW for blood, if you dont like blood in art i suggest just skipping the chapter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think??? Any ideas for what could happen for the plot? No, really, I have 0 clue as to where to go with this besides like the half a second chapter i currently have written. I eventually want to go to jim and co! time butttt for now..... throw me a comment!!!!


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